Wedding and Betrayal
by Ardin
Summary: It is the year 1148 and while chaos sweeps most of Britain, the Lord Sheriff Gibbs, his loyal deputy Anthony and cloistered friend Brother Donald manage to maintain the peace in the small town of Shrewsbury. Challenge response, details inside.
1. Introduction

**Wedding and Betrayal****By Ardin**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own NCIS or the Cadfael mysteries. They belong to DB and Ellis Peters respectively.

**Challenge: PLEASE READ THIS OR YOU'LL BE REALLY CONFUSED!! **This is in response to a challenge issued on the gibbskateff/gibbskatefic lists: Take the team out of NCIS and put them in another world. If you like "House, M.D." or "ER" make the team doctors. Like "CSI"? Make them CSIs. Or you can put them in a different time period (for JAG fans, this would be reminiscent of the episodes "Each of Us Angels" or "Mutiny"). The catch is that this IS NOT A CROSSOVER. You can make references to a related fandom (talk about House if you've made them doctors) and have one appear a bit, but the idea is the "NCIS" characters in a different world.

I first considered answering this challenge a couple of years ago after reading Sammie28's brilliant response to this challenge "Stormchasers" (available here at ). But in my case, as the summary says, I've dropped our characters into the British civil war of the early to mid 12th century, which is the setting for Ellis Peters wonderful Cadfeal mysteries (You totally don't need to have read those or seen the Derek Jacobi TV versions to get this story, though I definietly recommend them). Because of this, I've had to take some serious liberties with character back stories, I promise to use lots of explanation so that no one gets lost.

I'm posting (obviously) the Introduction, which will provide the historical setting, right now. I will, hopefully, have the first real chapter posted by tonight. It's about time that I got back to my fanfiction roots and wrote some more NCIS and KIBBS.

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**Introduction**

By the spring of 1148, England had been at war with itself for the greater part of 13 years. The land and people were divided and law and order were largely forgotten as two great powers fought for the throne.

In 1135, King Henry I had died without an heir, a fact that he had attempted to remedy by having his barons swear allegiance to his daughter, the Princess Matilda. But Britain had never been ruled by a woman, let alone one married to a Frenchman, and the nobles of the country were, by and large, unhappy with the proposed succession to the throne.

As such when Henry died, chaotic war began: Matilda, known to the people as the Empress Maude, against her cousin, King Stephen. Stephen's backing by the lords of Southern England was undeniable, but not all of Henry's barons reneged on their oaths to Maude and the two forces fought constantly for control. In the heat of a war which claimed everyone's attention, the everyday ruling of the country and the welfare of its people were forgotten. Starvation, disease and crime ran rampant through the land and no town was spared from the hardship of a time known to history as: When Christ and his saints slept.

One such town caught up in the chaos that swept the country was Shrewsbury. The town, which sat at the Western edge of England, less than a day's walk to the Welsh border, was home to a small castle, a bustling (though not as much as in the days preceding Henry's death) market place, and the Benedictine Abbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. Despite having been claimed and captured by King Stephen's forces in 1142, nearly 6 years prior, the town did not escape the hardships that ravaged the land.


	2. Observations During Church

**Chapter One**

The Lord Sheriff was, at best, an infrequent church goer. He was just as religious as most, and a good deal more so than some, but in his mind, and for the sake of Shropshire, his duty, and by extension, justice must take precedence over all. Even God. It was, therefore, slightly surprising when Abbot Heribert glanced around the congregation partway through the Sunday morning mass and spotted the tall personage of the Sheriff standing just inside the heavy doors, especially since Heribert was unaware that the Sheriff had yet returned from his pursuance of a thief in the northern part of the county. But, the Abbot pondered as he returned his mind to worship, it was not all that unusual for him to be unaware of those things taking place outside his Abbey.

Sheriff Gibbs, for his part, was very rarely unaware of anything, significant or otherwise, that happened inside his jurisdiction. It was, therefore, not all that surprising that on this particular Sunday morning in the spring of 1148, Gibbs' mind was less concerned with dutiful worship than it was with observing the strangers that he had watched arrive in Shrewsbury late the previous evening.

All that he had been interested in when he had ridden back into Shrewsbury just after sunset the previous day was a hearty meal and a night's sleep in his own bed. As much as he was devoted to his job and gladly did it in the name of King Stephen he still very much detested the time that he was forced to spend on the trail of various villains, more because of the terrible food and lodgings than because of the amount of time it forced him to be away from his house in town. A house that had been empty of all but himself and a single servant for far too long.

His plans, however, had been waylaid when his deputy had pointed out the caravan of horses and vehicles at the Abbey gate, apparently having arrived only shortly before his own party. So with a weary heart and cautious gaze he too had made his way to the Abbey to watch the new arrivals. As it was he had seen nothing of the lords and ladies themselves as they had already made their way to the St. Peters guest quarters, leaving only a handful of servants moving about by torchlight to unload luggage.

He was pleased, therefore, that morning to be able to stand at his usual spot just inside the church enclave and observe the strangers. Long ago he learned that much could be discerned about a person by the way they prayed. The five well dressed individuals that held his attention were no exception to that rule.

They sat near the altar, but not so close as to deprive the elderly and infirm of the town their usual seats. The first pair were older, but not yet elderly, both older than he. The man by an easy decade and a half, the woman by only a few years. The woman's eyes were closed, her lips moving simultaneously with the monks in reverent prayer. _Devoutly pious_, he surmised, _or else in great earnest for a single specific event_. The man kept his eyes open and forward, focused on the Benedictine brothers in front of him, but the expression on his face was one of tolerant boredom rather than devotion. _A man of the world, not God. He recognizes his duty to God, but finds the comings and goings of this Earth more important than the promises of heaven. At least for now_.

Gibbs noted their physical appearances and statures; the man tall and regal, his spine unbent, but his features plain; the woman also tall and elegant, and a great beauty or would have been at an earlier point in her life. His mental notation of their personage done, he moved past them. The two men that sat at the man's left side were of such height, build and age (both a decade or so the Sheriff's junior) that they could have easily been twins had their complexions not been so widely varied. The first was fair haired and pale, his skin unmarked by hard work or a difficult life. He matched the older man in height, but had not yet garnered his elder's confident posture. _A man of land and wealth_, Gibbs frowned slightly, _he has never known field work or an empty stomach even in these troubled times_. The other man, in contrast, was of a darker skin tone, his hair brown and coarse. As tall as his fair companion, but with a strength about him that suggested he'd lived a harder life. This was born out by a scar, newly formed, perhaps six months since the original wound, that traced down the side of his face from just under the right ear to just under the chin. _He got that in battle I'd wager. Must have been fighting on Stephen's side to enter so easily into Shropshire._ Both men kept their faces toward Father Abbot, but neither's attention was truly on Heribert's sermon. Instead they watched, out of the corner of their eyes, the fifth member of their party as if they expected her to vanish at any moment.

The last of the group caught and held Gibbs' attention in a way that few people in the world had ever done. He easily pegged her as the elder couple's child, her dark-haired beauty: a younger variation on her mother; her posture: the natural confidence of her father. She was of roughly the same age as the men beside her and her eyes, as much as he could see from where he stood, were bright and intelligent; her attention focused on the Abbot and a soft smile playing at her lips as though she had just heard an amusing joke. It was only when her eyes darted ever so quickly to the men at her side that he understood what had caused her humor. _She knows they are watching her and she finds their concern on her behalf to be laughable. But why are they worried in the first place?_

His musings, and his study of the young woman, were cut short by Abbot Heribert bring the service to an end and wishing his congregation a good day. He watched the small group file out through a side door that led back to their lodgings and then he himself exited into the Abbey courtyard and out into town. He would check in at the jail house with his deputies to ensure they were doing their duties and then he would return to the Abbey. He was confident that whoever the party was and whatever news they brought with them would shortly be available to him via his friend and confident Brother Donald.

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**A/N:** Please let me know what you think so far.


	3. A Meeting in the Gardens

**A/N: **THANK YOU so much to everyone that has reviewed so far. This is such a different type of story for me to be writing that I really appreciate all the feedback I can get.

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**Chapter Two**

It was the better part of two hours later before Gibbs was able to follow through on his plan to return to the Abbey. He had been waylaid briefly by his head deputy, Anthony, who had given him the rather upsetting news that word had just come regarding the continued struggle between Stephen and Maud.

It seemed that Maud's forces had managed to ambush a significant section of Stephen's army as it moved northward toward London. The news, if it was true and Gibbs was unwilling to put stock in that until such time as a more reliable witness came bearing it, meant that a hard blow had been struck to Stephen's forces, who would need to regroup before they could once again engage the Empress's own.

So it was with a rather heavier heart and a mind very much geared towards war rather than peace that the tall, silvering man made his way through town to the Abbey. Had he been slightly less preoccupied, he might have paused to take in the beauty that was Shrewsbury in the early spring, but as it was he made for a surly vision as he marched through the town streets, past shops and houses - including his own - across the River Severn – high in its banks after the last heavy rain - and into the Abbey courtyard. Usually such a display of single-minded frustration would have deterred even the heartiest of souls from approaching him during his passage, but his week long absence proved more persuasive than avoiding an encounter for Father Heribert, who stopped him as he past the cloister.

"My Lord Sheriff, how are you on this fine day? And what news do you bring us from the north of the county?" Heribert was well aware of Gibbs's mood and the normal tendency to avoid him when he was in it, but the Lord Abbot hoped that ignoring the younger man's stern demeanor would help to ease him out of it.

It was several long and tiresome minutes before Gibbs finally managed to detach himself from the talkative Benedictine. And that only after having assured the man multiple times that the livestock thief that he had been pursuing in Northern Shropshire had not only been caught, but had been given appropriate last rites before his sentencing was carried out. He was well aware that the Abbot was attempting to use feigned ignorance of his unhappy state to draw him out of the mask of indifference he so often wore and, on this particular occasion, Gibbs found himself repeatedly wishing that Heribert were not a man of God and could therefore be spoken to and driven away in much the same manner that the Sheriff would have used with any other.

The knowledge that he was being manipulated, however well-intentioned, by the other man did nothing to improve his attitude and so it was with a much deeper scowl than he had entered the courtyard with that he moved around and past the monk. He did not expect his mood to improve until such time as he could speak with Brother Donald, who always seemed to find the words to set his heart more at ease, and was therefore pleasantly surprised when this was not the case.

He had made it only as far as the northern most edge of the Abbey guest quarters when he recognized the pair that were lounging on its steps. They were the two younger men that he had been observing during services that morning and they appeared to be in the midst of some kind of battle plan, though Gibbs could only make out a few brief phrases as he walked past.

"…stupid she isn't. She knows she'll be left with nothing if she doesn't…" The fair haired one seemed to be trying to placate his companion, whose mood appeared to mirror Gibbs's own.

"Yes, but I would rather it be by choice rather than necessity. She…" The dark complexioned man trailed off as he spotted Gibbs moving past them. He seemed unwilling to continue further until the Sheriff moved out of ear- and eye-shot, perhaps startled by the sword and dagger, both highly noticeable beneath Gibbs's cloak.

Once around the corner from the men, Gibbs could not help but smile. The two had obviously been discussing the woman that had sat beside them during Mass and remembrance of her bright eyes and secret smile put the lawman in a significantly better frame of mind as he moved out of the courtyard and into the gardens heading, with his usual silent tread, toward Donald's workshop.

Benedictine Brother Donald Mallard was one of the few men that Gibbs fully trusty. The older man had proved, on more than one occasion, to be a gifted observer and an educated thinker. More importantly Ducky, as Gibbs had taken to calling him early on in their acquaintance, was unlikely, perhaps even unwilling, to judge the rest of humanity. Unlike his fellow monks who had, for the most part, taken vows at an extremely young age and as a result often saw themselves, despite a vow of humility, as better than those of the secular world, Ducky had come very late to holy orders, having first lived a full, and eclectic, life. He had, by his own admission, been sailor, soldier and sinner before cloistering himself in the Abbey. Ducky's major contribution to the Abbey, town and, occasionally, Gibbs himself was his vast knowledge of herbs and medicine, most of which had been gained during his long years on crusade in the Holy Land. The Saracens, he would often say, were the best in the world when it came to herbs and the ailments they treat.

It was this sweeping understanding of plants and their properties that had convinced Father Heribert, shortly after Donald's arrival in Shrewsbury, to make him master of the gardens and all that they produced. It was to further this duty and to give himself a sanctuary from his brothers and the rest of the world that Ducky had built the small workshop to which Gibbs now headed. Hung with bundles of herbs and spices, warm from the fire that was kept forever alive for the brewing of medicines, and always stocked with a small supply of decent wine, Sheriff Gibbs found it difficult to think of anywhere that he would rather sit and hammer out the problems that so frequently arose during the course of his duty. And in Ducky, he had a faithful confidant and an intelligent sounding board for ideas. Gibbs had never been clear on exactly what it was about the man, but Ducky seemed to effortlessly draw people out of their carefully built defenses.

As he approached the door to the workshop, Gibbs heard the soothing voice of the Welshman and he was quick to realize, as a feminine voice spoke in answer, that today he was not the only person seeking his friend's counsel.

"It is just that…" The woman sighed heavily, apparently not yet convinced that she should speak. Ducky's voice and the noises of him moving through the shop, _no doubt creating one of his bizarre smelling potions_, answered the woman's reluctance.

"You need not censor yourself here, my dear. There is only the plants and myself to hear anything that you may say and, if you prefer, I will leave you alone so that only the greenery will bear witness." Here the older man paused and Gibbs had been on the receiving end of Ducky's "you-might-as-well-talk" glare enough times to be able to guess that the woman was currently getting that particular look. "I will, in no way, judge whatever you have to say. That right belongs to God and God alone. But perhaps to say whatever you are thinking will ease the burden of those thoughts?"

She didn't pause long before responding, continuing the thought she had begun earlier, and Gibbs could hear the soft smile that must have been on her face in her words. "It's just that I don't wish to marry Thomas. He's a good enough man, I suppose, but to be forced into such a union, with no say…And to have my father so unwilling to listen to my reasons. He has never been so stubborn with me before." Here she paused as though she expected Ducky to comment, but Gibbs heard nothing but the banging of a few pots and the quiet whoosh of the bellows. The monk's silence must have convinced the woman of his earlier assurances and she continued to speak. "It will be years, God willing, before my father dies. That is plenty of time for me to be wed and perhaps it would be enough time to discover a suitor more to my choosing." Her last words were spoken wistfully and were accompanied by a swishing noise that convinced Gibbs that she had taken a seat on one of Ducky's many benches.

It was only when a steady silence filled the air that Gibbs realized that he had been eavesdropping, inadvertently or not, on a very private conversation. He had spent so many years seeing and hearing everything that he had a difficult time forcing himself to not listen, even when doing so would have been the more appropriate course of action. Unwilling to continue in such an unsavory manner, so like the behavior of the thieves and other villains he was duty bound to apprehend, he straightened to his full height and, making more noise than he would normally do, he crossed the last step to the door and pushed it open.

His actions earned him only the barest of glances and smiles from Ducky, but provoked a startled squeak from the young woman, who was, as Gibbs had already guessed, the very beauty that he had been observing in church earlier. Standing and straightening her skirts in an attempt to regain her composure, the brunette gave Gibbs a contemptuous glare before giving her attention to Ducky, who had turned to them both.

"Ah, Jethro, may I introduce Lady Caitlyn Todd whose father Daniel owns a manor at Telford. And Caitlyn, my dear, please allow me to introduce Jethro Gibbs, Lord Sheriff of Shropshire." His tone suggested that he had noticed Caitlyn's glare and Gibbs's indifferent frown and that he was displeased by both.

As Caitlyn offered a short curtsy, Gibbs briefly inclined his head in her direction and spoke. "My apologies for startling you, ma'am, I had not realized that Brother Donald had company."

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**A/N:** Yes, I am aware that Ducky, on the show, is Scottish, not Welsh. Unfortunately for the telling of this store, the Scots and the English had nothing resembling a stable relationship in the 12th century and a Scot would never have been allowed into an English town so far South, even as a monk.

Secondly, for the purposes of this story, I'll be using mostly full names (Caitlyn rather than Kate) because it is more historically accurate.


	4. Conflict and Conversation

**Chapter Three**

Eyeing his sword with a mixture of curiosity and disgust, Caitlyn addressed the handsome graying man that had interrupted her venting, "You carry arms inside the Abbey grounds, Lord Sheriff? Is it your intention to break the Lord's peace?"

It was clear to Gibbs that her intention was to bait him. She resented him coming into the place that she had, just moments before, considered to be a sanctuary and was willing, and apparently quite able, to make known those feelings. He felt a slight smirk pull at his lips, but pushed down the involuntary reaction. It had been a long time since anyone had talked to him in such a manner and he found himself admiring her even more. She must be an extraordinary woman to feel confident enough to address a man of his rank with such venom in her tone.

A tone which he chose to ignore as he turned fully towards her to respond. "I wish that it were unnecessary to carry arms anywhere within this county, m'lady, but the times do not allow for such ease of being. Father Abbot is aware that as part of my duty I must often be immediately ready to depart the town and he makes allowance for that by allowing me to carry weapons everywhere on these grounds." His polite and matter-of-fact response seemed to have startled her and he allowed himself a small smile for having caught her off guard. "As for breaking the Lord's peace, I consider that my duty to maintain the King's peace runs hand in hand with the monks' goal to keep God's own and it is an inconvenience that my duty to the former occasionally forces me to disturb the latter." By the end of his speech, Caitlyn's features had softened, her eyes no longer burning with anger and distain for the tall man in front of her and Jethro could not stop himself from throwing a slight barb at her, eager as he was to see her inner fire again. "We do not always get to choose how we would live, do we?"

It took her only a few moments to comprehend the totality of what he had just said and he watched in amusement as the realization that he had heard her conversation with Ducky once again put the hard edge of anger into her voice, even as her eyes sparkled invitingly at the challenge he presented. "No, sir, we do not, but that doesn't mean that we should not continually strive for that which we desire." She paused to glare at him for a brief moment before spinning back to Ducky with a flourish, "Thank you for your hospitality Brother, it is good to know that common courtesy is still practiced by some." She shot a smug glare at Gibbs and moved towards the doors to leave.

His hand caught the door handle just as hers did and for several seconds she allowed her hand to rest beneath his larger one. As she finally pulled it away, she shot him a questioning look and was startled to find that he was both much closer than she had previously thought and that he was regarding her with a soft smile.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Todd. I hope it is not the last such encounter."

The confusion on her face quickly transformed to anger as she seemed to decide that the Sheriff was once again making fun of her and her tone as she stepped past him and through the door was hard and unwavering. "You would be wise, Sheriff Gibbs, not to dismiss me. I may be only a woman, but I have long since learned how to live in a man's world." With one last smile at Brother Donald she turned and made her escape.

It was several long moments, as he watched her stalk through the gardens and disappear back towards the Abbey proper, before Gibbs closed the door and turned back to his friend. The grin on the older man's face bothered him, knowing as he did that the monk would not hold back whatever comments he felt needed to be made. With a sigh he sat himself at the work table and waited for his friend to speak.

"She has quite a spirit doesn't she?" Donald waited several seconds for the other man to respond and when the Sheriff did not do so, the monk continued in a knowing tone. "You cannot deny it, Jethro…" He paused to sit down at the opposite bench and gazed at Gibbs across the work table. The younger man met his eyes with his own, his hard stare telling the Holy Brother not to continue. Ducky acknowledged the unspoken request with a brief nod before turning the conversation towards other matters.

It was almost an hour, and a long conversation on the movements of Maude's troops against Stephen, later before Ducky returned the conversation to Caitlyn. Gibbs had finished his wine, bid Ducky a good evening and had opened the door to leave before the Benedictine's words, his tone wistful and slightly concerned, stopped him.

"I have not seen you look at a woman the way you look at her for almost ten years, Jethro. Please consider that, my old friend." Donald frowned as he saw the other man's shoulders tighten and his spine straighten. The Sheriff's response was harsh and quick, spoken as much to the midday sun as it was to the monk, and he had pulled the door closed behind him before Ducky could stop him.

"There is nothing to consider. In less than a week she will be married."

**TBC (Hopefully in slightly less time tan this update took. Sorry.)**


	5. Musings Before Mass

**Chapter Four**

Caitlyn Todd had, from her very earliest childhood, always loved sitting inside of churches. There was something intensely calming about the uniform rows of pews, the altar adorned in fine cloth and the echoing voices of the choir. And the church at Shrewsbury Abbey, despite its dim corridors and cavern like feel, held much the same fascination and tranquility for the young woman as so many other houses of worship throughout her life.

It was, therefore, not that surprising that three days after her encounter with the Lord Sheriff Gibbs she was once again seated on a barely padded pew waiting for Wednesday Mass to begin. The rest of her family and her fiancé had, much to her relief, chosen to forego the mid-week service in favor of other, more recreational, pursuits. Caitlyn herself had arrived nearly an hour before the mass was to begin, happy to sit in solitude and consider the position she found herself in.

It had been nearly a month since her father had informed her and her mother one night over dinner that he had chosen a husband for her and had already begun making arrangements for the wedding. Her mother had been ecstatic, pleased that her one child was finally – at an age almost twice the normal – to be wed. Caitlyn had sat in silence, appalled at the sudden decision, but unwilling to show her hand too soon, sure that given time to think she would be able to talk her father out of such a plan.

But, she conceded to herself as she closed her eyes against the candlelight from the altar, her time to think of a way out was nearly at an end and no amount of pleading had swayed her father from his course. Every plan she came up with and every argument to change his mind had been for naught. Precisely three days hence, she would be forced to stand up in the very church she now sat in and marry Thomas.

Not that she minded Thomas in particular, if she had perhaps her father would have reconsidered, but she had admitted early in the debate that she liked him well enough, she supposed. He was well landed, educated and mannered and no argument could deny his wealth and standing. But, despite an awareness that such ideas were wishful thinking, Caitlyn had grown up hearing fairy tales and country stories about true love and great romance and, though she would not admit it out loud, she very much wanted that romance and love in her own life.

And Thomas was not it.

To make matters worse, every time that she had sat down over the last few days to try to think up a new solution her mind kept dragging her back to Brother Donald's workshop, her confession to him and the man that had interrupted it. She found it exceedingly difficult to think about her impending marriage without flashing back to him and his comment about making choices. She still could not believe that he had been so rudely eavesdropping on her conversation with the holy brother.

However, at the same time that irritation still sang through her at his interruption, she also, much to her disgust, could not think back on their conversation with smiling. She would be the first to admit that while he had no right to listen in on a private matter, she most certainly should not have spoken to him with such out right disrespect and fury.

_Is it your intention to break the Lord's peace?_ As soon as the words had left her mouth she had been aware that they were inappropriate and she had fully expected him to fly into a fury, perhaps even to hit her for her attitude, as so many other men would have. She had, therefore, been taken aback with shock and intrigued surprise when he chose to gloss over her tone and had merely answered her question politely and respectfully. And then to have him similarly taunt her…

Caitlyn had often been told, both in childhood and since, that she was stubborn and difficult; that her interests and behaviors were hardly normal for a lady of her standing. Perhaps the people who had attributed so many similar character flaws to her since birth were more correct than she'd ever considered. Why else, she wondered to herself, would she have been so intrigued and invigorated by the friendly challenge that had sparkled in his eyes when he'd spoken to her as she walked out that evening. It was that challenge that had prompted her own response and it was those blue, blue eyes that her mind had flashed back upon so many times since that afternoon.

Her thoughts, both those of her wedding and of Jethro Gibbs, were brought back to the present as the recognition of people settling into pews around her reminded her of where she was and of the service about to start. For several minutes she nodded and smiled politely to the individuals around her, some of whom she recognized from the Abbey guest quarters, most of whom were strangers and none of whom she had spoken to during her couple of days in Shropshire. Just as the monks began to file in and take their places at the front of the church, the last seats within Caitlyn's eye line were taken.

She tried to concentrate on the Abbot's words and the brother's singing, but found her eyes drifting, at frequent intervals throughout the service, away from the altar and towards the tall figure of the Lord Sheriff and the woman sitting beside him.

As much as she knew that her attention should be on the mass itself rather than its audience, Caitlyn took great pleasure in the opportunity to observe Gibbs unobtrusively. He sat straight-backed and blank faced, his hands over the hilt of the sword against his leg anytime they were not folded in prayer, and yet, even in such an unassuming posture, Caitlyn could sense the power and danger that roiled off of him and she shivered slightly at the idea of what he must be like to witness in battle, if this is how he was at rest.

The woman next to him was a startling contrast to his tall, tanned form. Even while seated she was nearly half a foot shorter than him and her raven black hair provided a bizarre and, Caitlyn admitted to herself grudgingly, beautiful partner to her fair, nearly white, skin. Also, unlike the man beside her, her face was a constant display of emotion – smiling or frowning as the sermon progressed and moving her lips along silently as the choir sang.

When the service ended, Caitlyn made a hasty exit out into the Abbey courtyard. There she stood in solitude unsure of what to do with herself next since she was both uninterested in enduring any more of the Lord Sheriff's barbs and, at the same time, eager to verbally spar with him once again. Her decision was made for her when Brother Donald appeared suddenly at her side and engaged her in an animated discussion regarding her opinions on the Abbot's take on Second Corinthians.

She was quite happy to talk with the oddly secular monk, unusual as it was for any man to ask her opinion on anything, and it was several minutes later before her attention was drawn from their spirited conversation towards the church doors, where the Lord Sheriff and his companion were speaking with the Abbot.

Surprised as he was that Caitlyn had stopped speaking mid-sentence, Ducky followed her gaze and found himself smiling lightly at the focus of her attention. He watched silently as she once again took the opportunity to study Gibbs and the woman with him. And he was pleased, moments later, that she trusted him enough to speak her next sentence without hesitation.

"Who is she?" When he did not immediately answer, she glanced at him only to find him looking at her with confusion on his face. She suspected that the expression was false, a ruse to force her to ask her question more specifically, but she went along with it anyways, certain that she could trust the older monk, "The lady with the Lord Sheriff. His wife perhaps?" A wave of discomfort passed through her at the idea, but she ignored it, unwilling to consider what such an emotion meant. She likewise dismissed her feeling of relief at Ducky's answer.

"Not wife, no. That is the Lady Abigail. She is the Lord Sheriff's niece and ward." Ducky also chose to ignore the look of pleasure that passed over Caitlyn's face and continued speaking. "Her parents died nearly a decade ago now and Jethro took her in, happy, I believe, to have the company since his own wife had passed not long before in childbirth."

"He has not remarried?" Again the Welshman ignored whatever motivation might have been behind the question.

"No, I don't believe he has ever been particularly inclined to. He loved Shannon dearly and he sees no advantage in taking a wife merely to be married." He watched Caitlyn closely at his next words, "I believe he would have to be very much in love to consider marrying again."

Caitlyn tried to keep her features schooled into indifference as he spoke, but she could not help the sympathetic smile or the small sigh that escaped her. She envied the Sheriff his ability to make such a decision for himself, aware as she was of the idea of marriage for marriage's sake. With a shake of her head to dispel her depressed thoughts, she took one last look at the silver-haired form and then turned away from the Abbey and began to question Donald about the various plants he tended to.

With a smile of understanding, the monk allowed himself to be pulled into the subject and his last thought as he led her towards the gardens was that it was a shame she would soon be married. For while Caitlyn had turned away too soon to see it, Ducky was well aware of the look that Jethro had thrown their way and the involuntary smile that had drifted over the Sheriff's face upon seeing Caitlyn. He spared a brief thought to worry over the happiness of both his oldest friend and his newest, before launching into an inventory of the herbs he grew and tended.

**TBC**

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**A/N: **Unlike some authors I very rarely have a one hundred percent idea of what will happen next in the story. I have a vague outline of the whole thing, but not much more than that. So if anyone has ideas, predictions, or things they would particularly like to see let me know. If I wasn't already planning on doing it, I'll acknowledge your idea if I use it, but please don't feel bad if I don't.

As always reviews are greatly appreciated.


	6. Complications: Large and Small

**A/N:** For the couple of people that have asked: for the purposes of this story and in keeping with both show age differences and the age tendencies of the 12th century the approximate ages of everyone in this story are as follows. Gibbs: early 40s. Caitlyn: mid to late 20s. Abigail: late teens, early 20s. Anthony: mid 20s. Ducky: mid to late 50s.

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**Chapter Five**

Brother Donald Mallard was not, by nature, a suspicious man. Despite the many heinous and villainous things that he had seen both in the Holy Land and since his return, he maintained a general belief in the overall goodness of humanity. And he was even less likely to be suspicious of those that he knew, which is why he found it more than a little disconcerting when suspicious was indeed his prevailing emotion regarding the Lord Sheriff Gibbs, who, contrary to usual behavior, had been notably absent from the Abbey grounds in general and the gardens specifically for four days. His only presence had been for Mass on Wednesday morning and he had left directly after with not so much as a friendly nod sent in Ducky's direction.

Gibbs had, for the last several years, made a point of visiting the herb garden and Donald's workshop there for at least a short period each day whenever he was within the town. When the graying lawman had not appeared to discuss events, drink a cup of wine or even just sit for a few minutes, the Benedictine began to very seriously suspect that the other man was purposefully avoiding his company.

"Well," the monk sighed before he continued his thought to the empty room, "Perhaps I pushed a bit hard. But, honestly, I've never seen anyone argue so much against his own happiness." The monk's mind flashed to the Sheriff's stiff posture and tone as the other man had left his workshop last: _'There is nothing to consider. In less than a week she will be married.'_ He continued moving about the space, gradually hanging several newly picked herb bundles for drying, still speaking to the air around him. "Even if I was pushing, that's no need to run off like a child in a tantrum."

"Who's run off in a tantrum?" The female voice from the doorway behind him startled him out of his thoughts, but despite the sudden and unexpected rise in his blood pressure the momentary fright brought he grinned broadly at the black haired beauty that leaned against his doorjamb.

"Abigail, my dearest." Setting down the bunches of basil he'd been about to hang along the ceiling boards, he rushed to the red clad young woman and caught her up in a tight hug. "It is absolutely fantastic to see you, my girl; you've been away for too long. How is your uncle's northern manor? Jethro said that they'd had some damages from the winters flooding?" As he spoke he ushered her over to one of the long benches and began to pour her a cup of herbal tea from one of the many kettles over his fire.

"Some damage, yes, but they've done marvelously so far at getting it fixed back up. Now you stop trying to distract me." Even with his back turned he could sense the smile across her face and the accusing finger that waggled at his back. "Who's in a tantrum? And what were you pushing them about?"

Turning, he took the few steps to the table side and set a steaming mug in front of her before fixing her with a stern look, "Gossip is hardly an appropriate pastime, child, and as such the what will remain unsaid, but as you may be able to provide me with some answers the who, I don't mind telling you, is your uncle." As he spoke he had returned to the hearth for his own cup which he blew on gently as he settled himself next to her. Noticing the look of both curiosity and concern that had marred her expression, he waved a mollifying hand in the air and smiled to dispel the worst of her worry before he spoke again.

"I meddled where he didn't want me is all. Broached a subject that he would have preferred went unspoken about. And now he avoids me as though I had suddenly been set upon by leprosy." He heaved an overly dramatic sigh as he finished speaking, a gesture which drew the hoped for giggle from his companion's lips, and shrugged. Despite his hopes that Abigail might be able to provide him with some answers, he knew, better than most, than if the Lord Sheriff had set his mind to one form of behavior then there was little hope in changing his mind. The same stubbornness that made him such a fine Sheriff now provided Donald with a distinct challenge if he hoped to find his friend and apologize for his interference, no matter how well intended it might have been. Abigail's voice dragged him from his thoughts.

"I don't think he's actively avoiding you…though come to think of it, he did seem strangely reluctant to come with me on this visit and then unusually relieved when business in the town drew him away from the opportunity. But I think it more likely that he's just busy." She paused to take a sip of her tea, smiling at the sweet flavor of the monk's secret herbal blend. "There's to be a wedding here tomorrow from what I understand, a large one judging from the people that are pouring into the town, and he and his men have been kept constantly in motion because of it. That seems more likely than that he would actively seek to distance himself from you, no matter what may have been said."

As much as the old Benedictine would have liked to wholly believe that the boom in the town's temporary population were to blame for Jethro's conspicuous absence, he could not shake the feeling that it was something more. He was about to continue his questioning of his young friend and sometime garden helper when the distinct sounds of running feet outside turned both their attention to the doorway. It was mere seconds from the noise's beginning until its creator became visible just outside the entrance where he paused to catch his breath.

Anthony DiNozzo had come to Shrewsbury nearly two years previous and had, since that arrival, managed to make for himself both a good living and a good name. The fourth and youngest son of a wealthy trader he had grown up with the knowledge that he stood no chance of anything but the most meager inheritance. Bearing a temperament unsuited to the Church – a path not unusual for other men in his position – Anthony had instead pressed his suit with both the King and Lord Gibbs for a position among Shropshire's men-at-arms. Despite his relaxed demeanor and an occasional lack of sense regarding when to keep his wit to himself, DiNozzo had quickly proved himself among the Sheriff's ranks as both a keen observer and a strong fighter. He had, just a month previous, been promoted to Deputy Sheriff, a post he had stepped into with natural skill and unusual humility.

It was the booted footfalls and panted breaths of this particularly charming and persuasive young man that had drawn Donald and Abigail's attention and, after only a moment's pause to gather needed air and dip a short bow, he spoke, "Lady Abigail, Brother Donald my apologies for the interruption." His tone was polite despite the underlying urgency. "Brother, the Sheriff asks for your presence at the riverside just north of the Meole Brook. A body has been found and he requests your expertise regarding such things." Ducky was immediately on his feet and collecting supplies, not at all unused to such summons. It was not at all uncommon for Gibbs to call upon his aid for such doings as his time in the Holy Land had given him amble experience with the particulars of corpses and the stories that they could tell.

Anthony, seeing that Ducky had understood his message and moved to act on it, turned to the monk's pale companion, "M'lady, your uncle requests that I escort you home before returning to my duties."

Finishing the last mouthful of tea from her cup, Abigail stood, brushed a light kiss over Donald's cheek and allowed herself to be ushered out of the workshop by the lawman. Their steps were quickly followed by the Benedictine, who set off at a fast pace for the town walls and the poor soul that lay beyond them.

**TBC**

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**A/N: **The next chapter has already been written and will be posted sometime within the next week.


	7. Death at the Riverside

**Chapter Six**

Of the many things that protected the town of Shrewsbury and the castle within its walls, none was more useful than the river Severn, for the city and a small percentage of the fields that supplied it sat at the center of one of the rivers many large bends. With only a narrow strip of land at the northern edge of town and four easily defendable bridges across the frequently turbulent waters, the river – nature's addition to man's fortifications – provided a constant protection for Shrewsbury's many inhabitants. However, it also offered a severe and often underestimated danger to those inhabitants as well. For during the heavy rains of the spring the river's protective waters became a racing track of icy cold depths which, once or twice a year, took the life of one either too foolish or too careless to avoid its threat.

It was to the river, its waters at their highest and almost black as they rushed past, that Brother Donald hurried at Gibbs' summons. The area of the riverbank which Anthony's description led him to was one of particular peril. The gently sloping bank just outside the Abbey grounds painted a deceptive picture for anyone wandering nearby, as the easy shallows hinted at by such banks almost immediately gave way to a steep drop layered in rock – the perfect spot for under tows and whirlpools to form. It was certainly not the first time that Ducky had been called here by the Lord Sheriff, but he still dreaded the sight he knew he was likely to find upon his arrival.

However, as Donald stepped around the Lord Sheriff's men-at-arms and moved toward the tall form of Gibbs himself, the scene that he had expected to find was surprisingly absent. Rather than a drenched and pale white corpse newly dragged from the river, the monk found before him the mostly dry body of a young man, well dressed and in apparent good health, with its head all but covered by the shallow waters of the rivers edge. Even from several feet away he could see the bunching of the man's tunic where he'd, presumably, been held to keep him under water and the way his boot tips were dug deep into the mud from the struggle of his last breaths.

Moving to the Lord Sheriff's side, Donald glanced curiously at the graying man. His unasked questions were answered almost immediately.

"He was found about fifteen minutes ago by one of Madog's lads. The boy was searching the banks for any sign of a boat that slipped its moorings this morning when he found this instead." He paused for a moment, sighing heavily at the poor child's sudden discovery of the harsher truths of life, before continuing in a matter of fact tone. "He swears he didn't touch it at all and neither have any of my men. We await your learned opinion."

Gibbs' tone was laughing and his bowed gesture towards the body comical, but Ducky was well aware of the high level of regard his 'learned opinion' was held in, not just by Gibbs, but by most of the townsfolk, and he therefore took no offense at the comment's lightness as he stepped carefully over to the body and began his examination of it and the surrounding area.

"He definitely struggled for his life, - Didn't you my boy? – The ground all around is disturbed, both from feet digging for purchase and hands clawing for respite." He gestured to the mud around him, speaking to no one in particular though he knew his words, and their greater meaning, were being carefully marked by the graying sheriff. Moving closer to the riverside and ignoring the cold water that lapped against his sandaled feet he crouched to peer at the corpse's head. "Bruising all along his neck, though from hands or feet I cannot say for certain, and here, slightly darker, at his right ear." He paused briefly to consider the shape of the bruise, before continuing, "He was struck I believe, along the ear and temple. Something heavy, but not sharp as it did not pierce the skin. No doubt it would have dazed him, left him easy prey; it wouldn't have taken much, in such a state, to keep his head under water."

He glanced briefly up at Gibbs, who was nodding slowly, obviously mentally cataloging everything the monk said. Sure that the Sheriff was still with him, he turned back to the body, reaching down to pull the collar of his tunic back. He was startled as his hand contacted the dead man's flesh and he pulled away quickly, standing and moving to face Gibbs as he did.

"His body is still warm to the touch, Jethro. Whatever else may prove true about this death, it happened only a short time ago. Perhaps an hour, certainly not much more."

This pronouncement drew Gibbs' eyes immediately to the Welshman's, both men simultaneously taking in the full depths of such information. Together they turned to look towards the Abbey grounds. With the strong waters of the river in front of them, the nearest bridge into town guarded at all hours and some fifteen minutes walk distant and the alarm raised so quickly the Abbey, its extensive grounds and lodgings, would have provided the only reasonable escape route. It would also explain why the body was found so far from the roads and town. Certainly it would be a simple enough matter to lure someone down to the riverbank, hidden from Abbey and roads by trees and from the town by walls, if the attacker or victim or both had been guests at of the Church.

Unwilling to voice the very real possibility that the killer had come from and then returned to the sanctity of the Holy Grounds, Gibbs instead knelt down by the corpse, continuing Ducky's evaluation as the monk moved to the man's other side.

"Blood on his fingers and hand. Not a lot, but…" He paused as he glanced up and down the length of the body. "I don't see any injuries other than the bruising on his neck. Can we turn him over, Duck?"

With a short nod, the Benedictine rolled the body, careful not to disturb anything that might lie beneath him. Unaware that the Lord Sheriff had tensed next to him, Donald made short work of examining the arms and face of the poor soul that lay before them. Finding no marks other than the extensive bruising that they had already noted, he spoke, his attention still on the lifeless body.

"No…no injuries but the bruising. That blood could not have come from him. Perhaps he managed to injure his attacker during the struggle? A deep enough scratch or a blow to the face would certainly have produced that amount of blood. It would also give us a very definite way of identifying his murderer if –" He stopped mid-sentence as he looked up at his younger companion.

Gibbs' attention was firmly fixed on the body which lay between them at the river's edge, but Donald could easily tell that the usually attentive man had not heard a word that he'd just said. Instead of the look of fierce concentration which Gibbs normally wore as he mentally filed away details for later consideration, a blank sort of horror had twisted the handsome man's features. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. Highly concerned the Welshman had just opened his mouth to ask if he was alright when the Sheriff spoke instead.

"You said that this wouldn't take very much strength, correct? With the blow to his head, almost anyone could have summoned enough force to finish the job?" His voice was steady, his tone even as he spoke and had the Benedictine not known him so well he might have missed the rather haunted look in the Sheriff's eyes. Nodding slowly, he had just opened his mouth to ask Gibbs what was wrong when the other man continued his earlier questions, "Could a woman have had the necessary strength?"

Donald looked back at the body, silently gauging both the extent of the bruises and the evidence of a struggle, before he spoke, "Well, it certainly wouldn't have taken much after that knock to the head, so yes, a woman would be capable of this." He saw the other man's shoulders tense at the information and turned fully to face him as he continued, his voice now confused and curious, "Do you know who this is, Jethro? And do you have a suspect already?"

It was several long moments before the Lord Sheriff answered, his voice low and dangerous, the words meant only for Ducky's ears.

"Yes, I do. This is Thomas Kerrigan, Caitlyn Todd's fiancé."


	8. Judgment Calls

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, but a very special THANK YOU to fairwinds09 whose review of the last chapter kept me coming back to this story even though my muse was being unhelpful. Sorry it took so long, but I kept having issues with the start.

**A/N2: **For those who seem a bit confused by the whole idea: the Cadfael books are, like NCIS itself, mysteries. This story is written in that spirit and while I realize that this is a bit of a departure from my usual KIBBS fluff I do hope that that will not stop anyone from reading it.

**Chapter Seven**

"I am the Sheriff of Shropshire!" Gibbs' long legs greatly added to the speed of his passage as he hurried through the gardens towards Ducky's workshop and his shorter companion was forced to a trot to keep up with the angry man's stride. "As such it is my duty, NOT yours, to investigate this death and to question all those who may be involved."

It had been several hours since the Sheriff and the monk had gone their separate ways at the bank of the Severn. Gibbs had spent the intervening time fruitlessly searching the town for anyone who might have information on Kerrigan's movements prior to his death. With the exception of a tavern owner who had served him at around dusk, no one could recall seeing the dark complexioned man at all the previous day or that morning. The lad that had made the unfortunate discovery had shakily repeated his tale to Gibbs and the guard of the nearby bridge had confirmed the time that the boy had reported his ghastly find while assuring the Sheriff that Thomas had not crossed at any point during his watch.

Brother Donald had spent those same hours overseeing the moving of the body from the river to the Abbey, where it could be more closely examined as necessary and eventually coffined for burial.

It was the task that the Benedictine had undertaken immediately after he'd seen to Kerrigan's transport that was the source of his old friend's current displeasure. Having informed Abbot Heribert of the situation and receiving permission from that august personage to assist the Lord Sheriff in what capacity he could, Ducky had made his way to the guest quarters and the rooms of Lord Todd and his family.

"The family had the right to know of the boy's misfortune." Donald's voice was soft as he closed the door of the workshop behind him and turned to face Gibbs, whose expression was still one of anger and outrage. "And a need to know why the Lord Abbott has halted the wedding plans." He paused, watching his old friend carefully, and then tried a different tack. "Who would you have preferred to tell HER such news?"

Slowly, as if against his will, Gibbs features softened. While it was true that he couldn't ignore Caitlyn as a suspect, he had, somewhat to his discomfort, developed feelings for her during the course of their short interactions and would not have wanted the news to come in a way that would unnecessarily hurt her. He sighed and shot Ducky a stern look, before turning to find himself a glass and some wine as he spoke, "I still should have been with you. I know you like to see all the world as good and incapable of such things, but even you have to admit that she is a likely suspect. And the other members of the wedding party only slightly less so. There are few others in town that knew him well enough to want him dead."

It was Ducky's turn to sigh heavily, sitting down at his table and accepting the glass that Gibbs handed him. "Yes, of course you're right. I cannot deny that the location of the body and the fact that he wasn't robbed – for he was still wearing a fine gold ring and his silver cloak clasp – certainly suggest that this was personal to the killer." He swirled the liquid in his cup, but did not drink. Looking across at the weary features of his old friend, he conceded the Sheriff's point, "And, of them all, she certainly has the most to gain by his death. But I honestly cannot believe that Caitlyn would do such a thing."

Gibbs nodded slowly as he stared into his own wine. He had known the Benedictine for a good many years and had found it to be a rare time when the older man's judgment, especially of people, was wrong. For his own part, Gibbs wanted to agree with Ducky's assessment, but he also couldn't ignore his own opinion. His encounter with Caitlyn, though brief, had left him with a lasting impression of strength and conviction. The very characteristics which so intrigued Gibbs also made her his prime suspect. It wasn't so much that she had been against the marriage which made him suspicious, for the same could be said for a great many women since the beginning of time and they had not killed, but that she had the spirit and determination to do something about it that made him worry.

He looked up to see Ducky watching him carefully. Taking a deep breath he spoke, "I don't want to believe her guilty of this crime Duck, but I have to consider the evidence before me. And that evidence suggests that Caitlyn could have done this; could have taken the life of her fiance. I cannot allow any feelings that I may have for her to cloud that reality."

Donald smiled slightly at the younger man's admission. For days the Sheriff had been avoiding Ducky and by extension this very conversation and while the circumstances certainly were not ideal, it pleased the Benedictine to hear Gibbs say out loud what Ducky had already seen. Wary of pushing the younger man away again, Donald chose his words carefully, "Yes, of course, you're right. I am sorry for giving them the news without you there to do your job. But, despite our admittedly short acquaintance, I also care for the girl and have begun to consider her a good friend. I do not think she did this, capable as she may be, but I agree that we must pursue it either way."

With another heavy sigh, he drained his wine and stood, "When I took my leave of them, the family was in the guest house. I suspect that we may still find them there if you would like to speak to them immediately."

The Lord Sheriff was silent for a long moment, taking stock of the situation, before he too stood and led the way out, leaving his cup, still full, on the table.


End file.
